"I don't care if the angels dropped him down from heaven," Xris said. "It's about time something went right for a change. Come here, kid. We're going to take a walk. If everyone keeps calm"--Xris raised his voice for the benefit of the Marines--"no one'll get hurt!"
Jamil shoved the unresisting boy at Xris, who caught hold of the kid by the arm.
Weapon hand raised, his other hand--his good hand-dragging the kid along, Xris edged toward the open door. He walked into the sights of the Marines, could almost see them scowl in disappointment and frustration when the interior lights reflected off Xris's metal body parts.
"Yeah," said Xris loudly, walking as he talked, keeping the hostage near him, "you sharpshooters might hit me and miss the kid, but what good will that do you? Very few parts of me bleed. And with your first shot, either I take out the kid here or one of my team shoots him.
"Believe it or not"--Xris was coming closer and closer to the door controls--"we're on the same side. There's been a little misunderstanding, that's all. If you can get hold of the Lord Admiral, tell Dixter that Major Mohini's no traitor. Neither are we."
The Marines were watching every move. The barrels of their beam rifles followed Xris as he went. At his side, plastered against him, the hostage was sweating and gulping, but at least he hadn't fainted.
"You're doing good, kid," Xris said to the boy, to keep him going. If the kid went limp on him, it'd all be over. "You won't get any medals for this, but with luck you'll live to tell your grandkids about it."
The controls were a lunge away. Xris braced himself for the jump. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw Jamil, Tycho, and Quong prepared to lay down covering fire.
"One last thing, kidj' Xris said quietly, "tell the Lord Admiral that the king's life is in danger. Twenty-four hours from now. On Ceres. You got that?"
The kid stared at him, baffled, befuddled by fear. Xris doubted if what he'd said had made it through to the terrorcrazed youngster. Not that it much mattered. NOROF wouldn't be able to contact Dixter even if they wanted to. Still, it was worth a try.
"When I shove, you hit the deck. Keep your head down," Xris advised, and, with all his strength, he heaved the boy through the door. In the same motion, the cyborg made the lunge for the door controls.
Either the boy took Xris's advice or he had sense enough to know what was going to happen. He dove for the deck, hugged metal. Laser fire burned through the air above him.
Xris's good hand yanked the emergency lever on the airlock, pulled it down. Screeching and grinding, the door began to swing shut. Xris had a final glimpse of the Marines attempting to rush it.
Quong tossed two sleep-gas grenades out the rapidly closing gap. An invention of Raoul's, the grenades looked like the real thing, but instead of exploding, they emitted a gas that would send every oxygen-breathing person on a quick trip straight to the arms of Morpheus.
The last Xris saw, the kid, still lying on the deck, was valiantly attempting to kick one of the grenades back toward Xris.
Kid's braver than he thinks. He might get a medal after all, Xris said to himself.
The door was only half a centimeter from closing. Groping for the controls to seal the door shut, Xris heard a hissing sound. He smelled a not unpleasant odor, was suddenly fuzzy and light-headed. Everything on the other side of the door had gone velw quiet.
The door shut, sealed. Xris locked it, then sagged onto the deck. Quong and the others hurried to him, their faces worded, anxious. He waved them off.
"I'm all right. Just caught a whiff of Raoul's slumbertime concoction." Xris coughed, shook his head, fighting an overwhelming desire to take a nap. "Jamil, you and Tycho see if there are any more nasty surprises hiding inside the landing module. Doc, get everyone else down here and then replace that hull plate."
"I doubt if there's anyone in here," Jamil said.
Limping on his injured knee, he headed for the airlock that led from the command module to the launch module below. "This is the only access."
He hauled the airlock open. He and Tycho disappeared below.
Quong touched his corem, but at that moment Rowan appeared, swinging herself from the hole, jumping lightly to the deck below.
"Toss my equipment down," she ordered someone-probably Raoul--above.
A duffel descended with a thump, followed by Raoul.
"I've lost an earring," he announced plaintively. "I don't suppose anyone's seen it?"
Xris straggled to get back on his feet, touched the comm.
"Harry, you finished up there?"
"The Schiavona's programming is complete. She'll fly back to Olefsky--"
"With my earring!" Raoul mourned. He stood beneath the hole, waiting to assist the Little One. "What good is one earring? I'm lopsided--"
"Start handing down the gear," Xris commanded.
"Right." Harry signed off.
Rowan was at the command module computer. Quong was searching the bridge for tools. Xris walked over to the airlock that led down into the landing module. "Any problems?" he called.
"Nope. Looking good," Jamil reported. "It hasn't been unloaded yet. We've got one armored vehicle. Under wraps--"
"Computer reports indicate that it's in good working order," Rowan said, bringing up the files. "It's a PVC-48 Devastator, if that means anything to you. It doesn't to me."
Jamil grunted. "Yeah. Well, it could or it couldn't. I don't suppose I have time--" Xris shook his head.
"All right. Later. We have supplies and rations for a tenday mission. Weapons, gas masks. Makes me feel nostalgic." Jamil looked up through the airlock, grinned. "Like you said, about time something went right."
"Don't break out the champagne. We're not out of this yet," Xris advised. He was wondering why the Marines weren't continuing their attempt to retake the drop ship. It wasn't like them to give up. "Make sure everything's secure down there."
Straightening, he saw the Little One--arms outspread, legs dangling--being lowered through the hole. "You got him?" Harry called from above.
"I'm not tall enough!" Raoul returned. He glanced around. "Xris, could you--"
The cyborg clumped over, reached up. Harry let go and the Little One fell into Xris's arms. He stood the empath on his feet. Raoul straightened the Little One's hat, which had been knocked askew on landing.
"I've lost my earring," Raoul told his friend.
The Little One shook his head.
Xris, shaking his head, caught and stowed the rest of the gear. He had just finished when he heard Rowan give a low whistle. In the old days, Xris had come to hate that sound.
"Trouble," said Rowan.
Xris hurried over. "What? The Marines trying to blast open the door?"
"Huh?" Rowan stared at him. "Oh, that. No." She waved her hand airily. "I managed to break into their computer, shut the door that leads to the airlock. Then I changed the codes. And because of the new safety standards that were instituted after the disaster two years ago on board Valiant, they'll have try--"
"Then what's the trouble?" Xris broke in impatiently.
Rowan turned to face him. "We have no fuel. In other words, we're out of gas."
CHAPTER 33
Take calculated risks. That is quite different from being rash.
General George Smith Patton,
Letter to Cadet George S. Patton,
June 6, 1944
"No fuel pod? Standard operating procedure," said Harry. He was red in the face and puffing, having unloaded all the gear, weapons, flight suits and helmets, the medical supplies, and what was left of the food.
"Safety measure," added Rowan. "It's the first thing they do when a ship goes into dry dock. According to the manual, all fuel pods are to be---"
"Fuck the manual!" Xris swore in bitter anger. "You mean to tell me we took over this bloody ship and now we can't go anywhere in it? And you two knew about this?"
"Not exactly," Harry said, shamefaced. "I mean, I did, but I didn't, if you know what I mean."
"
In all the excitement, it never occurred to me," Rowan admitted, her cheeks burning. "Sorry, Xris. I should have thought ahead--"
"Don't think, damn it! Do something!" Xris was shouting. He knew he was shouting, knew he was losing it, but he couldn't help himself.
Jamil poked his head up out of the landing module. "What's the problem?"
Harry and Rowan looked at each other. Rowan bit her lip, turned back to the computer. The Little One had shrunk to almost nothing, was cowering behind Raoul.
"Excuse me, Xris." Quong was attempting to refit the hull plate. "Could you lend me a hand with this? Your tool hand, preferably." He chuckled, looked around, grinning. "That's a joke."
Xris, grim-faced, strode over.
Quong was perched on the infamous chair, holding the hull plate in place with one hand.
"Calm down, my friend," he said in a low voice. "We are all doing the best we can under very trying circumstances."
"Year, Dec, I know." Xris took out a twist, stuck it in his mouth. "What do you need me to do?"
"I have shut the airlock on the Schiavona. Now we must--"
"The Schiavona!" Rowan cried.
"That's it!" Harry said excitedly.
"What's it?" Xris demanded.
They spoke simultaneously. "We can use the fuel pod from the Schiavona!" "Will it fit?"
"Of course!" Harry sounded nonchalant, but he wiped his forehead and heaved a relieved sigh when he thought Xris wouldn't notice.
Rowan issued orders to the drop ship's computer, told it to tie in to the Schiavona's onboard computer.
"You're positive this will work." Xris had come to expect trouble. "The Schiavona's nowhere near the size of this command module--"
"Doesn't matter. All fuel pods for all ships are interchangeable," Harry explained. "They're made that way on purpose so that the Navy can rescue ships that run out of gas. It's been standard Naval policy for years."
"Safety measure," said Rowan in a solemn tone.
Xris looked over at her.
Rowan caught his eye, smiled, and winked. Then she went back to work. "I've initiated fuel pod ejection .... "
Xris fitted on his tool hand, climbed onto the chair, began to weld the hull plate into place.
"I thought Rowan said this blasted ship could heal itself," Xris muttered.
Quong watched the job with a critical eye. "It will. When activated, the drop ship's internal damage systems will detect any air leak in the hull. Once you have the plate welded into place, the ship will check it out for the tiniest leaks and cracks--those we couldn't even begin to see, but which can grow and split a plane apart in hyperspace. The ship will inject sealing fluid on the outside of the hull around the breach. This way we don't have to spend six days crawling over the hull with fancy equipment looking for cracks the size of one of Raoul's false eyelashes." "If it works," Xris said gloomily.
"It will work, my friend," Quong said gently. "It will work. Can you take over from here? I'll go initiate the repair program."
Xris nodded, grateful for the opportunity to be left alone. He let his mind drift and odd thoughts came into it, the oddest being that Rowan was certainly pretty and that this fact irritated and bothered him. Xris didn't like to think of his friend as pretty. He didn't want to think of Rowan as womanly in any way, shape, or form. Rowan wasn't a woman ....
Any more than I'm a machine, Xris said to himself.
A heavy thud shook the vessel. Xris shut down his welder, looked over to Harry for an explanation. "Fuel pod dropping into place."
Harry had taken his seat in the pilot's chair--right next to the chair on which Xris was standing. Rowan moved to the navigator's position, was forced to squeeze past Quong, who had to sidestep Raoul, who tripped over the Little One. Everybody was tumbling over the gear.
The bridge hadn't appeared small until now. Jamil, watching from below in the launch module, his head poking up out of the deck, had a suggestion. "All those not needed up there can ride down here. It's meant to work that way, in fact."
"We're certainly not needed," Raoul said thankfully. "And I have to redo my makeup."
Meaning he had to remove the poisoned lipstick before he accidentally poisoned himself. Retrieving his handbag, he helped the Little One to his feet. The two of them descended, with Jamil's assistance, through the airlock. Quong remained to finish his computer work, then he, too, departed.
Xris inspected the hull plate, climbed down off the chair. He took off his tool hand, stowed it away, replaced it with a hand fitted with smaller tools, designed for more delicate work in case any of the computers went down or needed adjusting.
"We have fuel enough in the command module for the jump to Ceres," Rowan reported, completing the calculations. "And maybe a short hop after that."
"Just get us to Ceres," Xris said. Chewing on the twist, he sat down in the copilot's chair, glanced back up at the hull plate. "I hope to hell that thing holds. Don't shake this baby around too much, will you, Harry?" Harry gulped, glanced sideways, cleared his throat loudly. "What now?" Xris demanded. "NOROF's locked us out of the docking computer. I can't retract the mooring clamps."
"What can you do?" Xris asked resignedly. He was, he realized, almost past caring.
"Well ..." Harry ruminated. "I can try to rip us free, using full engine power. But that hull plate might give--"
"I don't think so," Rowan reported, studying her screen. "According to the stress factor calculations--"
"Do it," said Xris. "Put on vacuum suits and helmets, just in case." He stood up, went to the airlock, peered down into the launch module. The rest of the team were settled into their seats. "I'm going to shut this, seal you guys off. This may be a bumpy ride. Hold tight."
The last he heard, Tycho was asking worriedly, "Where's the head?"
Xris shut and sealed the airlock, then began struggling into the bulky and cumbersome flight suit.
"Of course, once we get free"--Harry eyed Xris nervously--"we have to dodge that tractor beam. And then--"
Xris held up his hand. "Just answer me this." He put on his helmet. "Has anyone ever made the jump with a hole in his spaceship?"
"If they have, they haven't come back to talk about it," Harry replied.
Xris nodded, settled himself in his seat, strapped himself in. "Just checking. All right. Let 'er rip."
The commander of NOROF stood beside the operations officer. Both of them were stating intently out the gigantic observation screen.
"They're breaking free," said the commander.
"Yes, sir," Ops returned. "Sorry, sir, but those mooring clamps were never meant to hold under that kind of pressure."
"Can engineering lock the tractor beam onto them?"
"No, sir. We're faced with the same situation we had when they flew in here. That pilot is damn good. Begging your pardon, sir, but it's like trying to track a mosquito with a flashlight. We can hit the ship with the beam, but the second we're ready to lock on, he's flown out of it."
"Very well." The commander stared back out the viewscreen.
Ops shrugged, shook his head. "Maybe if we had tracking equipment as sophisticated as those on the big cruisers ..."
He shrugged again.
"Maybe." The commander agreed. He watched in silence as the hijacked drop ship successfully eluded all attempts to capture it.
"They've jettisoned their spaceplane," Ops reported. "We've got hold of it."
"Nice we can do something," the commander said acidly.
"Yes, sir," replied Ops. "Hijacked ship has made the jump, sir."
The commander could see that for himself. The drop ship had disappeared into the black void of the Lane. The commander returned to his office.
The debriefings of the Marines who had attempted to stop the hijacking were on his desk. Also the interview with the artificer third class who had been taken hostage. The commander read them, pondered them, read them again.
Odd, he thought. Damn odd.
He reflected, then he gav
e his computer instructions.
"Put me through to Naval Headquarters, the Lord Admiral. Use the emergency code. Bring them up on-screen."
He sat back and waited. It didn't take long. A pleasantfaced young officer appeared. "I am sorry, Commander, but due to Operation Macbeth, your access has been denied. Please refer to Section 8, paragraph "
"I know, Lieutenant," the commander cut in crisply. "I need to leave a message. The matter is urgent, of the highest importance. I can do that much, can't I? Belay that," he added hastily, guessing by the lieutenant's frown that he was about to cut the commander off. 'Well the Lord Admiral or whoever needs to know that the men he's after--that cyborg and his commandos--were here on this facility. They hijacked a drop ship. We tried to stop them but failed. Add this, however. And this is important, Lieutenant.
"The cyborg told one of my men, quote: 'Tell the Lord
Admiral that the king's life is in danger. Twenty-four hours from now. On Ceres.' The cyborg risked his life to deliver that message. Do you want me to repeat it?"
"No, Commander, I copy. Thank you, sir."
The screen went dark. The commander sat back in his chair, stared through his own small viewscreen into the patch of black where he'd last seen the drop ship--a bright spark that had suddenly winked out. He stared at it a long time, repeated, "Damn odd," to himself. Then, heaving a sigh, he went off to console the enraged captain--former captain---of the drop ship.
CHAPTER 34
If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.
William Shakespeare,
Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 2
"His Majesty will receive you both in a few moments, Sir John, Commander Tusca. If you would like to walk in the Gallery while you wait, I'm certain it will not be long. His Majesty is just finishing breakfast."
The king's confidential secretary and assistant, D'argent, led Tusk and Dixter down a hallway that had become known as the Gallery, for the works of contemporary art which adorned its walls. The artwork was exhibited on a rotating basis, all pieces personally selected by either the king or queen. It was a rare honor for artists to have their work selected, an honor that guaranteed them fame and fortune.
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